


Worthless

by largoindminor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Mention of past suicidal ideation, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3490481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/largoindminor/pseuds/largoindminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's bombarded by negative thoughts, Dean comforts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthless

**Author's Note:**

> just a thing that was stuck in my head since this morning, as per usual. i hope you enjoy!

It's past midnight and Sam's been doing research most of the day. Dean's been in bed for hours (although probably not sleeping, Sam thinks). He rubs his eyes, they're raw and watery from the computer screen and the fine print of the dusty tomes he's been pouring over. And over. And over. He's weary from it and can't ignore the fatigue anymore, nearly fallen asleep twice already. Sam swallows down the last of his glass of whiskey, snaps the computer shut and leaves the books strewn.

His room is cold when he gets there, so Sam pulls a sweatshirt over his t-shirt and makes his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He caps the toothpaste, pauses, looks at his face in the mirror, eyes red and puffy, hair fluffed in all directions. Elbows on the sink, he looks down again, runs his fingers through his mess of hair. Thinks.

 _Useless._

_Slow._

_Stupid._

Sam doesn't have these thoughts often, but they do come. Times when nothing is going right. When he can't seem to do _anything_. Like that whole year when Dean's deal was coming due. Or when he pointed his gun at Madison and pulled the trigger. Or when Sarah died right in front of them. And now. Dean is struggling with the mark, losing the struggle, maybe, and Sam is powerless to help. That is his job. Dean is his. His to save. His responsibility. His life. And he just _can't_.

He hears a shuffling behind him and looks up again, catches Dean's bright eyes reflected in the mirror. Wordlessly he walks up behind Sam, pries one hand off the sink and turns, tugging for Sam to follow. Dean walks them past Sam's room and into his own, sits down on the bed and then scoots himself to the other side, making room for Sam to lie down as well. 

Sam does, he's on his back, stiff and awkward, negative thoughts still bouncing through his mind. He hears them in his own voice. His father's. Lucifer's. Dean's. 

_Worthless._

_Weak._

_Unclean._

Dean knows, Dean's known Sam long enough to know. He reaches for Sam, spreads a blanket over him, pulls him onto his side and into his arms. Sam allows himself to be manipulated into the right position, the softness of Dean's touch drowning out some of the quieter voices. 

Dean tucks Sam's head into his chest, wraps one arm around him, rubbing soothing tracks up and down Sam's broad back, the other hand tangling in his hair, brushing it away from his forehead to clear the way for his lips. He places a small kiss there, lingering to inhale the stale-sweet scent of Sam's shampoo mixed with sweat.

“Been researchin?”

Sam nods.

“So smart.” Dean says, punctuating it with another kiss.

Sam shakes his head once. “Not smart enough,” he mumbles into Dean's shirt.

Dean ignores the comment. “So smart Sammy. So brave. And strong, stronger than me.”

Sam shakes his head again but doesn't speak.

“Yeah. Yeah you are,” another sot kiss, right over the temple.

Sam takes a shaky breath in, blows it out slowly trying to maintain control.

“You're so strong. And so good. Look at all you done. You survived hell and the cage and all those damn hallucinations. And you- you been lied to by all the people you trusted--me included--and you're still, you still see the best in people, ya know? Such a good heart. You forgive. I can't do that.” 

Sam's not protesting anymore, he's lying very still. It's hard, sometimes when he's like this, to listen to Dean praise him. Harder than hearing insults or jibes, and he doesn't know why. Tears start to sting his eyes, so he closes them, pushes even closer into Dean.

“You cast out Gadreel. You- you cured a demon, Sam, how many people can say that?”

Sam remembers, remembers feeling useless when Dean disappeared. Remembers teetering on the edge between killing everything in sight or just himself. 

“You saved me. With that big brain o' yours,” again, a kiss, “you're always savin' me.”

Sam reaches around Dean now, hugs him back finally. Whispers, “I don't know if I can this time.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe.” Dean's voice wouldn't be audible, except his mouth is inches from Sam's ear. “That ain't, this ain't on you. It don't mean you aren't all those things Sammy. Smart. And brave. And selfless. God, and kind.” He pulls back slightly to look at Sam's face. “And beautiful. A savior. My... humanity. My Sam.” He kisses Sam's lips, chaste and gentle, and tastes the hint of salt on his lips. 

Sam kisses back. He doesn't believe him, he knows if he was better, stronger, smarter, he'd have fixed this whole thing already. But Dean believes in him anyway, and Dean's kissing him, and stroking his hair, and damn if it doesn't feel so good he can push those bad feelings away a little, silence those voices a little more.

“I love you Sam.” it's not even a whisper, just lips forming the words but Sam knows anyway.

Tomorrow he'll research again. Tomorrow he'll be better.


End file.
